“Girl—”
“Brielle.” She tips her chin.
Anger brims beneath my skin, heating me from the inside out.
I cock my head, but before I say a damn word, she raises her brows like a brat, leans into my space, and takes a fry from my plate, popping it into her mouth.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to make sure I’m safe,” she says.
“I don’t give a shit what you are or aren’t,” I spit.
She’s twisting my damn nerves.
Brielle rolls her eyes, reaching for her milkshake. “Okay, I’ll rephrase, so we can pretend you’re impassive and careless when you’re clearly kind of not, how’s that sound?”
I glare. “Sounds like you want to be left here.”
She laughs but keeps her little smart-ass shit up. “There’s nothing wrong with you not liking the idea of a girl being in a dangerous situation. How was that... better?”
“If sleeping outside is a dangerous situation and you’re aware of that, why do it?”
“If walking onto a campus where people don’t know what a badass mama-jamma you are is dangerous, why do it?” she mocks.
I lick my lips, squashing the grin that’s tempted to show itself. “Ain’t nothin’ dangerous about that.”
“Picking a fight with a handful of guys and the dude who is basically their own little idol—or not little,” she corrects herself. “Franky is actually pretty gigantic and muscly and stuff and—” She laughs suddenly, cutting herself off. “What?”
I glare. “I didn’t say shit.”
She pulls her lips in, amusement washing over her, and it pisses me off.
“You didn’t say anything,” she agrees. “But your face did the whole ‘I’m annoyed’, angry boy thing.”
“I am annoyed. You talk too much.”
“And you brought me to this diner, sat us away from absolutely everyone, to what?” she steals another fry, swiping it along her ice cream before biting into it. “Eat?”
“Don’t get it twisted,” I say slowly. “We’re only here to kill time until you’re allowed inside the house you live in, but if you prefer to sleep on the ground, say the fuckin’ word and back we’ll fucking go.”
Her body stiffens, her focus falling to the cold treat in front of her.
She grabs her spoon, lightly stirring the thick malt. “I didn’t say I couldn’t go inside.”
“You panicked when I went for the door handle.”
She opens her mouth, but closes it, her gaze sliding to mine and chock-full of unease.
“Tell me why.”
She keeps her mouth clamped shut, but then lifts a single shoulder, her eyes bouncing between mine. “Because what other choice do we have, Royce Brayshaw, other than to do what we must to survive?”
“You have to sleep outside to survive?”
“I have to avoid bad situations to survive, but I’ll save us both the back and forth and reiterate, no crime, remember? The people are jerks, but words are words.” She shrugs. “It’s perfectly safe to sleep pretty much anywhere here. No crime, remember?”
My eyes narrow, and I want to ask her what she meant with the first part of her statement but go with something simpler. “There’s crime everywhere.”
She thinks on it a second and says, “That’s fair, but it’s not the kind you’re used to.”
“How would you know, little Bishop?” I lean forward. “If big brother hides as much of our world as the fucker’s supposed to, as you led on he does, then how do you know what kind of shit I see?”
She plants one arm on the table, and the other on the back of the booth, meeting my few inches forward with a few of her own. “You’d be surprised what you can find on the internet.”
“So you stalk us?”
“Not you.” Her eyes cloud with longing, but she blinks it away. “My home.”
Confusion swims in my head as I study her.
“Tell me,” she says, her tone tired but not with a need for sleep. “Do you hide things from your brothers?”
My muscles jolt at the mention of my family. “No.”
“So they know you’re here?”
My lips press together and a small smile finds her, but it’s not a triumphant, bitchy one.
The girl almost comes off wretched.
“That’s what I thought, you’re the black sheep. You didn’t lie to them, but you do bend the rules until they make sense in your favor, sort of ride the line to the very edge, forever jumping before you have a chance to fall.” She lays her head on her fist as she stares up at me. “I’m kind of like that, too. The black sheep, for sure, but the rules... I don’t exactly bend them. I do what I’m supposed to for the most part, with school and at the house and whatnot, but—” She cuts herself off with a scowl and looks away. “You’ll think I’m lame.”
“I already do.”
A quick laugh leaves her, the corner of her lips lifting and almost cracking mine, but I don’t allow it, instead, I let myself sink into the seat more.
I keep this shit as simple as it is.
“Why do you care what I think?”
Her gaze holds a hint of reserve, but she decides to keep going. “I like to spin things in my own mind, to believe the choices made for me are made in my favor. That way it sucks a little less than the truth.”
Lies fuck up everything. She has to know this.
Right?
I sit up straighter. “If you’re lyin’ to yourself, who can you trust?”
She faces forward, turning to look into the darkness outside the window beside her. “No one.” She pulls in a heavy breath, slowly brings her eyes back to mine. “Not a soul.”
Something stirs beneath my ribs, but I’m not sure what to make of it.
No one.
She can trust no one.
Not even herself.
“People suck, but small towns suck even more,” she adds with a resigned smile. “All these people ever do is whisper about how lucky I am, and how I need to take advantage of the new opportunities I supposedly have here—work harder, do more, get involved.” She rolls her eyes. “But it’s such crap. They don’t really want that. They just want to feel better about themselves when they pass me on the street and look the other way.”
It will be better for her, I can hear Bass’ words loud and fucking clear.
But is it?
She sounds miserable, and worse, accepting of it.
“I’m not ungrateful, I appreciate having somewhere to go.” She decides to share more, and I’m locked in, waiting for her reasoning and irritated over my internal need to know. “And of course I want more out of life, but not here, and not the life people look at me and believe I should have. They see this young, misled girl with weird tics and quiet thoughts and bam, suddenly they all know exactly who I should be.” Her eyes hit mine. “Why should I have to be this saint others expect of me in order to have a future I can be proud of, happy with? What if I want to be different? And more than that, what if I’m supposed to be?”
Her last word leaves her in an unsure whisper.
The vein in my jaw begins to throb, forcing me to clench my teeth to stop it.
I lick my lips, my question a low rasp. “Different how?”
“Despite what I lived through, I’m not a cruel person,” she says, more to herself than me. “And I’m happy about that, but—”
But what?
Her head falls.
Come on, girl. But what...
“But was raised with a whole lot of bad.” Her eyes, they lift to mine. “So, can I even be me without at least a little bit?”
My pulse kicks as I focus on Brielle.
On the void of her gaze.
On the truth in her words.
On her.
In my peripheral, I watch as goose bumps raise along her arms, but she doesn’t break eye contact, and I can’t fuckin’ seem to either, so I fight for a way to cut through the fog building in my mind, the questions I suddenly
want answers to and the possibility of what those answers might be, but she beats me to it.
“Oh look.” She swallows. “It’s Franky.”
I glare, whipping around in my seat, but the place is as dead as it was when we walked in, nothing but a few trucker-looking couples sitting on the opposite side.
I swing back, but as I do my frown flips.
She has my straw between her pink lips and is drinking my shake when hers sits half full right in front of her.
Brielle laughs, chocolate spilling onto her chin as she wipes it off with a smile. “You still had whipped cream. I already ate all mine.”
I don’t say shit, stuck staring at the little thing beside me.
She goes back to stealing my fries as if they’re hers and dips them into her glass.
I tell myself to grab our shit and get out of here, that the questions floating in my mind don’t belong, but it doesn’t happen.
Instead I scoot the fuckin’ things in the middle of us and do the same damn thing.
Chapter 6
Brielle
I flip my hands under the little air dryer and turn to look at myself in the mirror.
My uniform is wrinkled and has a few grass stains I’ll need to soak out before I can climb into bed tonight, but at least the swelling around my eyes has gone down some. I lean over the counter to inspect the whites of my eyes. They’re a little red, but better than they were when I woke up this morning.
That’s a good sign.
My hair is a ratted mess from the breeze, so I quickly run my fingers through it and loosely tie it back, more than ready to fall into bed and aware it’s going to be a while before I’m able.
I push out the restroom door, jumping when I nearly collide with Royce.
He leans against the wall only inches from the door with his arms crossed over his chest.
“What are you doing?” I laugh lightly.
He doesn’t say anything and doesn’t look away as the door to the men’s room opens, a group of four guys step out.
The men’s room that is located directly across from the woman’s, both hidden down a short hallway and out of view from the dining area—out of view from where I left Royce sitting.
Each of the guys slow when they spot us, me still half in the doorway, Royce seemingly keeping me trapped there.
Travis, a guy from school, recognizes me, his light eyes moving to Royce as he stops walking altogether.
“You good, Brielle?” he asks, his gaze shifting to mine.
Royce is sliding in front of me before I can even blink, let alone answer.
He’s slowly sliding forward, and I’m not sure Travis realizes it or not, but he’s taking wary strides back, his friends already stepping behind him. I know for sure Royce is unaware the guy isn’t asking because he cares. Travis is simply being nosy and hoping for something he can use to slam me with later.
“Is she good?” Royce gives a cocky chuckle.
Not a second later, my hand is swallowed by his large one. I’m tugged, spun, and placed before him, my back pressed into his front.
He walks us past the guys, waiting for the perfect moment to be an ass, and glances over his shoulder.
“Oh, she’s good, pretty boy,” he says smugly. “Take my word for it.”
Oh my god!
I lock my feet in place, causing his chest to bump my shoulder blades slightly.
When I tip my head back to look up at him, an arrogant-ass grin is what I’m met with.
I tear from his grip, and he’s either stuck on stupid, fully confused by my need for a quick escape, or he decides to let me get ahead as I somehow manage to stomp my way out the exit. Of course, not before Travis and his buddies get a good laugh in.
Fantastic.
The loud whack of wood against wood lets me know I’m no longer alone, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of turning around.
“Keep walkin’ away from me, and Imma start to think you’re looking for a reaction,” Royce calls, officially following behind me now.
“That’s because you’re a narcissist!”
“Oh, mini’s mad,” he mocks. “This’ll be good.”
I roll my eyes, tearing at the door handle of the car, but it’s locked.
With a huff, I spin on my heels and glare at him.
He simply stands there, five feet away, and waits.
After a solid twenty-second stare off, I throw my arms out. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Fuck’s wrong with you?” he throws right back.
“How about everything you just did.”
“What, you wanted a vanilla shake?” He raises a brash brow.
“I don’t like vanilla.”
“Me either,” he says loudly.
I flick my eyes to the sky. “I swear, you’re like... a pizza pocket. Hot on the outside, so you start eating it, but if you don’t get the timing just right, you find out it’s cold in the middle.”
His head tugs back and he gives a hard blink. “What?”
I growl and try again. “You make no sense!”
“Not seeing the problem here. I’m hot and you want a bite.”
“Not what I was saying at all.”
He throws his arms out. “Okay, Tiny Tina, what are you saying?”
“It’s like you do things without knowing why you do them, but when you stop and realize your moves, you convince yourself the reason behind it is the worst possible one your warped mind can come up with, when I’m pretty sure decency is hidden under all that swag. Somewhere deep down. Like deep, deep down.”
He licks his lips through his doubling frown. “How deep?”
My arms slap against my thighs, and I can’t help the laugh that spurts out of me.
He literally can’t help himself, poor guy. And here I thought I was master at avoiding emotions.
As I look away from him, my amusement fades, getting lost in the night around us, so I find the brightest star I can and hold on to it as I let him in on my concern. “I don’t want to give people here another reason to whisper about me.”
“Fuck ‘em.”
“Because it’s that simple.”
“It is.”
“No. It’s not. Not for normal people in normal worlds.” I look to him. “The people in this town were born here, went to the same schools their entire lives, live on the same streets. Coming into a tight-knit place like this wasn’t exactly smooth, and I didn’t have anyone with me to go through it with. You’re stirring things up for me again.”
Royce’s features tighten. “Bishop should have put them in their place a long ass time ago and none of this would be a problem.”
“But he’s not here to do that, is he?” I raise a brow. “Now, tomorrow at school, as soon as those guys get the chance, they’ll talk smack and the rest will be coming at me with their jeans around their ankles because you decide to play me as one of your BrayGirls.”
He grows tense.
I grow tense.
Oh my shit.
Royce holds still, then brings a hand up to drag it down his face as he glances off.
My eyes remain lasered on him and as his return, it’s with a calculated tip of his head.
He stalks toward me with slow, deliberate steps until he’s close enough to plant his hands on the window beside my shoulders.
His reach is long, so there’s still some space between us, but at the new angle, his face is a bit more on my level, and suddenly I’m staring straight into his bottomless brown eyes as he asks what he wants to know.
“What do you know about being a BrayGirl?”
I open my mouth to respond, but he speaks again before I’m able.
“Be straight-up with me, little Bishop,” he warns. “No bullshit.”
Okay, fine.
I lay out what I’ve learned. “I know it’s what people call the girls who spend their nights with you or your brothers, or anyone who has earned the Brayshaw name.”
“Morning, afternoons, we
ain’t picky on time of day, baby girl.” He’s angry and hard focused. “Keep going.”
“It’s a girl who is on lockdown. Untouchable to everyone, watched by all to keep her from doing things a Bray wouldn’t like or things she shouldn’t. Basically, she’s bound in bubble wrap, only to be undone by her man.”
“Temporary man,” he fires off.
“Right.” I shake my head in disdain. “Because she’s good enough for his bed, but not his heart.”
His jaw clenches. “You the type?”
“You’ll never know,” I toss back, holding eye contact for a few seconds only to turn away the next. I stare out at the darkness surrounding us. “Can you unlock the door now?”
“Why should I?” His shoes slide along the gravel beneath our feet, his body growing nearer. “You act like you’ve got a place to go.”
“I do.” I turn to him with a straight face. “It’s past ten.”
He stares a moment, running his tongue along his upper lip. “So that’s the magic number, huh?” he asks, frustration slowing his words.
I shrug, tucking my loose hairs behind my ears. “Will you give me a ride or not?”
The muscles in his forearms flex near my face, but I don’t look. I keep my eyes on his and finally, one by one, his hands fall to his sides.
“Yeah, little Bishop.” He reaches out, opening the door he must have unlocked without my notice. “I will.”
He begins walking around the hood, and my body rotates with him, holding eye contact until he dips into the driver’s seat.
I wipe my hands on my bottoms and slip inside.
Royce stares straight ahead, a heavy frown etched along his forehead, his left leg bouncing. He puts the car in drive, rolls a half foot forward, only to come down hard on the brakes. He throws it right back into park and jumps out.
I can’t swing my head around fast enough to follow, only spotting a blur of a black T-shirt disappearing through the diner door.
I drop against my seat, scanning over the windows of the place, unable to see beyond my own reflection shining back.
A minute tops passes, and then he’s storming out, sliding back in and peeling from the parking lot.
It’s not until we’re parked outside of my house that Royce’s head shifts my way, but his glare is locked on my front door.
Break Me Page 7
